Page 56 of Dark King (Advantage Play 2)

She nods. “Yeah. He was nothing but a monster. And now my very own supervillain gets to defeat him while I have a front-row seat.”

After a breath of laughter, I ask, “You wanna stay?” I can’t hide my disbelief. I’d assumed she’d retreat to our room to clean herself up while I get a few more answers I need before putting a bullet in his skull.

“Positive,” she breathes, peeking up at me. There’s no fear. No hesitation. Just trust. Anticipation. And an overwhelming need for peace.

Pressing my mouth against hers for a second time, I murmur, “Then let’s get this over with.”

I turn to Burlone to see him watching our interaction with open hatred, but he’s smart enough to hold his tongue.

“Never knew you were such a softie,” he notes. “She tastes pretty sweet, doesn’t she? You should’ve seen her when––”

My fist connects with his already bruised jaw, causing his head to swing to the side as red-tinged spittle flies from his mouth.

Apparently, he’s not as smart as I’d assumed.

“Careful, Burlone,” I warn as the deep ache in my knuckles centers me. “The Romano family let you get away with too much for too long. But not anymore.”

“Fuck you,” he spits, more saliva flying. “If you honestly think I’m not going to walk out of this room, you’re more dense than I thought.”

With a dark laugh, I give him my back and begin sorting through a few items tucked away in the cabinet. However, there’s something about the switchblade lodged into Burlone’s leg that calls to me. I shake my head. It won’t work for the specific techniques I have in mind. Sighing, I reach for one of my favorites––a six-inch blade with a polished ebony handle that fits perfectly in my grip. My mouth pulls into a grin.

At a lazy pace, I circle the poor bastard who’s strapped to a chair in the middle of my interrogation room––one slow step at a time.

“I find it interesting that you actually think I’d let you go after everything you’ve done. Let’s just put a pin in the fact that you tortured my girlfriend. That you raped her. Sent one of your men to beat the shit out of her. And scarred her in more ways than you could ever imagine. Don’t worry, though; she’s stronger than you could ever imagine. Not only did she beat you at your own game; she did it twice.” My pride swells a second time as my attention shifts to her. She nods softly, encouraging me to continue. Clearing my throat, I try to focus on the task at hand instead of the brunette bombshell who’s about to see a whole new side of me. And for once, I’m not terrified she’ll run in the other direction.

“Let’s focus on the fact that you took the princess of the Romano family, shall we?” I pause when I’m behind him, enjoying the way my presence makes him squirm. He cranes his neck to keep me in his view as I watch tiny goosebumps pop up along the back of his head before disappearing beneath his stained white shirt.

“You’ve had your fun, Kingston,” he argues.

I laugh before tightening my grip around the knife in my right hand. “No. I think I’m just beginning.” Pressing my right forearm against his left temple roughly, he has no choice but to rest his right ear against the top of his shoulder. I angle his head until the entire left side of his neck is exposed toward the ceiling.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, Kingston. Be reasonable. You’ve had your fun. I’ve learned my lesson. Besides, no one touched your sister. I kept her safe––”

His words morph into screams as I grip the shell of his left ear then slice through the skin with exact precision. Even though the blade is wicked sharp, I have to saw at the cartilage as Burlone’s blood oozes down his neck.

His arms tug against their restraints, his head jerking back and forth, but I don’t release him until his ear is in my hand. Lazily, I toss it in his lap.

“Apparently, you weren’t listening to me very well, Burlone. Maybe now you’ll try a little harder to cooperate. Capiche?”

The tears are streaming freely down his face, his lower lip quivering pathetically. But the hatred in his eyes? That’s giving me the information I need. He wants me to burn for my actions. Now, I need to find out if it’s possible that I might.

“Good boy.” I wipe the blood from my left hand along the top of his head, smearing it into his hair while treating him like a dog.

Hell, like a little bitch. I smirk at the thought.

“You’re never going to breathe air outside of this room. Ever. Again,” I divulge. “The sooner you realize that, the sooner we can get the answers we need. And the sooner we can put you out of your misery. However, if you don’t feel like being helpful, I’m more than happy to persuade you a little more. Any questions?”

“Motherfu––”

“Careful, Burlone,” I tsk, raising the crimson-colored blade into the air. “I still need your tongue, but you have plenty of other appendages that I don’t find necessary to getting the answers I want. Nod if you understand.”

His swelling jaw is clenched tight, and his beady eyes hold so much hatred, I’m surprised I’m still standing.

“Nod,” I bark.

And like a good little boy, he does.

“Good boy,” I repeat, condescendingly. “Who knew about the tournament? Anyone else that wasn’t on the email list?”

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